Sword Beach to Bremen., A Veterans tale. Sapper

Hope you are well Brain at least the snow has vanished. Finer days ahead.

Do you have any plans for the year ahead?

 

Definitely..... My ambition at the age of 85 this spring, is to enjoy this life, on this jewel of a planet, this wonderland spinning round in space...

For its only when you are old, that you realise the true value of being alive. And the miracle of the privilege it is.... to be given the wondrous gift of life on this Earth

So despite the severity of my injuries.... I shall stick it out to the last second......

I have already had a word with Saint Peter....To collect the beautiful white wings they had ready for me in 1944. I never collected them at that time, so he put them in cold storage wrapped in a cellophane packet.....BIG GRIN
Well you did ask!
Sapper

 

Thats given me a nice warm glow on this cold day Brain thanks.(you soppy so and so)

Heres to a happy healthy year

 

While we are about it...lets talk of FEAR..... I write covering a wide range of subjects. This is about FEAR and DREAD.....

The Darkening.

Now comes the darkening of the night
Slithering, slowly creeping, full of fright
In distant corners, faint shapes appear
That vanish, gone, when you draw near

Behind the door, faint sounds are heard
Dreaded, yet understanding, not a word
A ghostly cold, now invades the bones
We realise, shivering, we are not alone

Faint misty shapes, like old faces loom
In the darkest realms, of my unlit room
But fade and drift, and change their form
Lit by summer lightning, a distant storm.

Around the door now, a faint yellow light.
A rustling sound, brings a ghastly fright
In the darkness close, the steps of death.
Is it the coming of that ancient. Seth?

Mindless terror now, invades my soul
I must fight this fear, not lose control.
The door flies open, they’ve come for me!
But it’s my Missus with the morning tea.
Brian Guy
March 2007.
Sapper Ha hA,,,,

 

During the times when you are in action, you have little pause, to think about the mates that fell. All those sun tanned young me. The wonderful young piratical crew that sallied into battle. There was not time to grieve. No time to mourn. It is in the years afterwards, That you recall the young men. The bright and vital men... that are no more..

it is then that the great sadness of their loss imprints on our minds... All those long years ago....... For them there were no love affairs, no family, no children at home. They never lived to enjoy the borrowed time that we enjoyed.

And that is the cause of great sadness..... For I recall them as they were. While the press and media are full of misery and gloom. We really do not realise just how lucky we are...... We live, love, and enjoy a standard of living in this wonderful land.

Through their sacrifices and their courage, so with that In mind I repeat this verse without apologies for doing so...For this says it all....

Quietly! Quietly! Whisper my Name.

So many long years ago I died, under Norman apple trees.
But now my Spirit wanders, as a warm and gentle breeze.
Hush! Quietly, Whisper my name, in that long forgotten place.
Then feel the warmth of my Spirit, caress lightly on your face.

For now, I am the jewelled Summer Lark, that soars on high.
Bright in heavens concert hall, my song will fill the sky.
I am the tumbling cloud’s that rise, to touch the face of Joy.
No longer held by earthly bonds, a once young and vital boy.

In an instant life was swept away, in a brutal savage war.
Look not for me in Normandy, for I am there no more.
I am the peace in woodland glades, in veiled cascades of green.
Feel me close, in your times of joy, sensed, but never seen.

Whisper my name, and hear my voice, in cascading woodland spring,
Or England's flowered primrose banks, wherein the bluebells ring.
Don’t mourn for me, quietly call my name, I'll visit in your dreams.
And, fill your mind with the beauty, of heavens joyous scenes.

Hush! Hush! Just whisper, quietly, call my name.
Whisper quietly.

Brian Guy.

 

Brian, I truly must say that you are a very powerful writer. This thread is very much so a gem on the internet! Thanks very much for sharing your stories to people like us.

 

Thanks Dustin.
That cheers an old man up on a monday morning.
sapper

 

Greetings all,

Thanks Brian for all these wonderful posts... i did a word count and it amounts to around 55000 posts (still on page 27 though).

That's what good books are made of..

might i reccommend creative commons (Creative Commons) to copyright your works?

Regards,
TBA

 

Just as an aside from war. Do any of you have children?

Well.. this is a tale for children. It is about a dreaded old monster that lives in the ancient hills of the Purbeck Isle. in Dorset.....,The JibberJabber. Admitted, a figment if my imagination ! Big grin...

Nine Barrow Down. The Lair of the Jibberjabber.


The Jibberjabber of Nine Barrow Down.
A Children’s Jurassic Coast Winters Tale!

Around the communal graves of ancient wars, the Jibberjabber walks.
Slinking in the misty damp hidden hollows, this alien creature stalks.

Only in the fading light, will this slithering, old dreaded monster fly.
Of half human form, with green scaly skin, and hooded cat like eye.

In the silence, the rustle of it’s scaly wings, disturbs the peace of night.
While all the little children, beneath the covers, cower in sudden fright!

Listen! What was that? look! the garden below, a misty shadowy shape?
Is the Jibberjabber lurking there? Skulking, under black and shiny cape?

Only in the Autumn and Winter months, can you hear the Jibberjabber cry.
And hear the sound of flapping scaly wings, in the bright starlit winter sky.

Look! There! Is that its dreaded shape? Silhouetted against the Milky Way
The dry rustle of whispering wings, faint bloodcurdling cries, very far away

For the cold mid-Winters starlit nights, is the ancient creatures domain.
It flies ghost like down the valley, searching for his long lost mate in vain.

Ten thousand years ago, on Nine Barrow down, in an ancient war she died,
But it still searches his winter midnight realm, with mournful yearning cries

Before dawns first light, it must return to rest, in it’s ancient hidden grave.
High up on cloud covered Nine Barrow down, in a dark and stony cave.

Children now at bedtime, beware that old Jibberjabbers distant scream.
Be good children now, Go to bed on time, or it may visit in your dreams

And in the darkness, hover on bat-like wings, outside your window frame
But if Kids are well behaved, they’ll not hear, that old monsters cry again.

Now, if you look up at Nine Barrow down, against the winters evening light,
You may see the Jibberjabber hovering there, like a green and scaly sprite.

For good children will never see, or hear, that Jibberjabbers dreaded flight.
Now they will sleep, warm and untroubled, on a cold and peaceful night.

Brian Guy’s Sensible poems for children.

 

G'day Brian

WOW. What a read.

Thanks so much for posting that vast treasure trove of your experiences Brian. I found it a very moving and human account.

My war (Regimental Signals Officer) was a whole world and half a century away from yours but the sentiments and images you described touched a common thread with my experiences as well.

I am also humbled by your casual bravery. My enemy was a poorly trained, badly equipped rabble but we were still scared out of our wits half the time. I can't even imagine what it could have been like for you against the SS. Your accounts of the pitched battles at Caen and Overloon with every conceivable weapon being brought to bear sent shivers down my spine.

Sadly the one lesson to pass on about war is the one we always seem to forget, and that is simply DON'T

Oh and the kids say thanks for the Jibberjabber too mate.

Take care.

 

some of it is just fun, some is deadly serious. It all goes towards making life interesting. It also serves the purpose of reminding the younger generation of the sacrifices made on their behalf by those no longer with us... Bless them.
Thanks for the kind words. Cheers
Sapper

 

And by those still hear Brian. Despite what you may say or think about yourself, you are a hero and deserve to not grow old and deserve not to pass away. You fought and died for someone else and that alone is an amazing thing and shows your true bravery.

 

Cheers Robert. But me a hero? Not me mate, definitely not me
Sapper

 

Hi Brian, you mentioned something earlier in your story that your cheap STEN nearly killed you and your friend. It reminds me of a real life physical comedy I read about. It's a first hand account: two British soldiers who went to the field kitchen at night to get some leftovers to eat and one of them accidently dropped his STEN. The weapon promptly began to fire cyclically and spinning around. The pair danced and jumped. Miraculously no one was hurt. What happened in your case?

 

We had just come back from a days action, tired and hungry. WE unloaded our gear and I placed the Sten on the ground "Clumsily" It started to fire on its own and a round or two actually parted the centre of Harry's hair line. Simple as that.

Have you read about the mate that I caught up with at Warwick hospital? His Sten nearly cost him his life, It certainly cost his leg.
Cheers
Sapper

 

Any one want to come fishing with me? While the Company was in Scotland, on the pre invasion exercises, they went fishing. I have a photo of my platoon with their prizes. A wonderful catch...

What you need is a pound of Gun Cotton. A primer, a detonator, and some black safety fuse...It burns under water........ Light the fuse and bung it in the river.BOOOOMB. Salmon and Trout all over the place, a bloody lovely meal grilled over a fire in the open...

So who would like to come fishing with me? Don't bother with the damn silly new fangled rods and lines, this is the PROPER way to fish.
Sapper

 

Now that's my kinda of fishing!

 

Tripal C.. have replied to your PM, sorry it was late.
sapper

 

Over the years, I have given many lectures ..talks and Workshops, on the Normandy campaign. Now a "workshop" is an "Interactive System" where those present, join in and take part in the operation that is "Live" and ongoing.

It occurred to me, that a genuine anti personnel mine clearing, that took place on the 8th of August 1944, on the High Ridge that ran East from the town of Vire, were we abutted the Americans.

In this case: we need a team of three. One, to sweep with the mine detector, two, to mark and white tape the "Cleared" area, and three, to make any mine found "Safe"

The Vire Vaudrey ridge. It is the habit of the Sappers to name anything that held us up.... as a "Road Block" Even though there was no road there. It was just something that held up our advance.

You will be under enemy fire during the operation.
Sapper

 

No interest.... Cancelled